


Limelight

by ProseApothecary



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Fluff, High School Drama Club AU, M/M, Referenced drinking and drug use, Referenced motion sickness, Slow Burn, Strangers(ish) to Lovers, That might be the most specific TW I've ever used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: He walks down to a room at the end of the corridor, pushing the door open. David sits cross-legged on a bed surrounded by walls of furniture. It’s not exactly your standard bedroom, but Patrick can’t say he’s shocked. They have a couple of classes together, and David is always…interesting.David looks up, unbothered. “Bathroom’s three doors down.”“Oh, no, I was just looking for a place to hide out. But I can find somewhere less…fortified.”David motions to the surrounds. “Last month Cyndee Pokorny and Everett Wilder made out on my thousand thread-count sheets while I was on a snack retrieval mission. The fortifications are a necessary precaution, believe me. But if you’re not bringing a hook-up, and you’re not spilling beer,  you’re allowed in the sanctum."“...Thanks?” says Patrick, slipping off his brogues and clambering over an armchair to join David.
Relationships: Implied Jocelyn Schitt/Roland Schitt, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 50
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter 1

The bottle spins past all the high school royalty surrounding Alexis, only to end up pointing at Patrick, hovering around the snack table.

“Patrick! Come join us, the bottle is calling you,” says Alexis.

Patrick attempts an amiable smile as at least half the circle look daggers at him. There’s no way he’s getting in the middle of that love octagon.

“Thanks, but…I’m gonna get a drink.”

_There must be somewhere in this mansion where he can escape the crushing throng of bachelors trying to impress Alexis._

He walks down to a room at the end of the corridor, pushing the door open. David sits cross-legged on a bed surrounded by walls of furniture. It’s not exactly your standard bedroom, but Patrick can’t say he’s shocked. They have a couple of classes together, and David is always…interesting.

David looks up, unbothered. “Bathroom’s three doors down.”

“Oh, no, I was just looking for a place to hide out. But I can find somewhere less…fortified.”

David motions to the surrounds. “Last month Cyndee Pokorny and Everett Wilder made out on my thousand thread-count sheets while I was on a snack retrieval mission. The fortifications are a necessary precaution, believe me. But if you’re not bringing a hook-up, and you’re not spilling beer, you’re allowed in the sanctum."

“...Thanks?” says Patrick, slipping off his brogues and clambering over an armchair to join David.

David stares at his now-visible Thomas the Tank Engine socks. “What are _those_?”

“Laundry day,” says Patrick apologetically, though he’s not sure what he’s apologising for.

“Got it,” says David, who clearly hasn’t got it.

“…Like when your Tom Ford jacket is at the drycleaner’s so you have to wear Versace.”

“Got it,” says David, “for real, this time.”

David doesn’t know why, but that makes Patrick smile at him, eyes crinkling, cheeks dimpling and all.

 _Oh no_.

Patrick picks up an encyclopaedia from the debris surrounding the bed. “This is some dedicated construction. When I made a room fortress to keep my sister out it was basically just a pile of Transformers comics.”

“And that worked?” asks David, “She’s seriously lacking in dedication.”

“She was three.”

“Still, kids are basically humanoid by that point. She should have been able to manage a pile of magazines,” he says contemptuously.

“Sorry,” says Patrick, “when are babies _not_ humanoid?”

“They’re basically hairless cats for the first 6 months of their lives.”

Patrick laughs. “That’s fair. There is a lot of mewling.”

“Oh my God, the mewling. Alexis was such a loud baby.”

Patrick feigns shock. “But she’s so quiet and introspective now.”

“If that were true, I have a feeling you wouldn’t be hiding out right now. What, did she start spin-the-bottle?”

“Spin-the-bottle has very much started.”

“So kicking you out right now would basically be a war crime.”

Patrick grins.

“Seriously. I mean Alexis never misses her mark. And you’re in a sports ensemble, so that’s worth at least ten points.”

Patrick looks at David, trying to gauge how serious he is. He definitely looks serious.

“It’s also known as a baseball team, but sure. And is there really a points system?”

“Oh yeah. Do you own property in South-East Asia, and/or are you in line for any throne? Because those are worth at least a hundred.”

“No, to all of the above.”

“Ok, so you’re not gonna be her main target. She’s probably interrogating some poor exchange student right now.”

“Huh.” Patrick looks relieved, and just that is enough to make David feel a bitter sort of pleasure.

Luckily a squeal from outside distracts them both, followed by Alexis, speaking loudly for the benefit of her guests. “I can’t _marry_ you Gustav. Ask me again in 5 years.”

David rolls his eyes. “How many proposals do you think she’s received tonight?”

“Two?” Patrick guesses at random.

“Wow,” says David, “I’d guess closer to six. But If you’re right, I will buy you a pair of socks for adults. You know, plain ones, unrelated to children’s programming.”

“Deal. And what if you’re right? What do I give you?” asks Patrick.

“No offence,” says David, trying to ignore the fact that he could’ve sworn Patrick’s voice just dropped a couple octaves, “but I don’t really want your Thomas the Tank Engine socks.”

“Mm, I’d gathered that,” says Patrick. “how about I go on a retrieval mission? Bring back some food?”

“Are you sure you’re willing to take that risk?”

“I live dangerously. Also, I’m very hungry.”

David pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Alexis, putting her on speakerphone.

“Ugh David what is it? I’m very busy right now.”

“I just wanted to see if you were doing ok. You know, some of your friends were saying that tonight was a bit of a dry spell so-”

“Excuse me? David I have been proposed to _six_ times today. Does that seem like someone in a dry spell?”

“Do I have a new brother-in-law? Is he cute?”

“Mmkay, I’m hanging up now.”

David looks at Patrick smugly.

“I win.”

“David,” Patrick says, putting his hands on David’s shoulders and looking at him solemnly, “I may be gone some time.”

“Good luck.”

Luckily, most people are dancing, leaving a clear path for Patrick to make his way to the snack table and grab a few cups of vodka. He looks at the charcuterie plate and considers whether he can just take the whole thing.

“Patrick!” says Alexis, dancing over to him. “Nice socks.”

“Thanks,” he says, “I’d love to chat, but David suddenly got violently ill, and he says sliced meats and vodka are the only things that will calm his stomach so-”

“That does sound like David,” says Alexis. “Tell him not to puke outside his room.”

“That was fast.” David looks up as the door opens.

“I remained calm under fire.” Patrick responds. “Listen, I know you didn’t want drinks on the bed, but-”

“It’s fine. I’ve had enough vodka nightcaps to know that it doesn’t stain like beer does.”

“Oh. Well that’s…good…I think? Oh, and um, if Alexis asks if you feel better tomorrow…just go with it.”

“What?”

“I might have told her you were violently ill as part of a cunning plan.”

“Oh God. Then she told you the Six Flags story? She always tells people the Six Flags story.”

“She did,” says Patrick, “…so if you retell that whole story now, it wouldn’t be embarrassing, because I already know. It would just be, you know, cathartic.”

“Not falling for that one.”

“So,” says David, 3 drinks later, “that’s why even a teacup ride is dangerous after you’ve been on a rollercoaster. And you should always check to see who’s in the neighbouring booth.”

“Words to live by,” says a smiling Patrick.

“It’s not funny. Richard Gere’s whole family has a vendetta against me now.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Ok,” says David, “just because _you’ve_ never had an embarrassing moment in your life.”

“Why would you think that?” asks Patrick, now laughing.

“Because you’re-” David tries and fails to think of a word other than ‘suave’ or ‘smooth’ or ‘effortlessly charming’.

Patrick raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“…You just seem like you’ve got your shit together.”

“Ok, no one actually has their shit together.”

“Only people who have their shit together say that. Have you ever had an actual humiliating blunder? Train socks don’t count. Neither does bringing too many cupcakes to the bake sale.”

“Too many? You wanted to buy both trays.”

“Really not helping your case here.”

“My mistakes aren’t really fun party stories.”

“And mine was?”

“You met Richard Gere at a Six Flags. Don’t undersell it.”

“God, rose-coloured glasses really blur your vision, huh?”

Patrick grins at him

“David!” comes a voice from outside. “Did you steal my eye mask?”

“Why would I want your eye mask?” David yells back. “It’s probably covered in eyeliner.”

“Ew, David! You know I have a six-step makeup-removal regimen.”

The door slams open.

Despite her silk PJs, Alexis is an imposing figure in the doorway.

Until she sees Patrick, and visibly softens.

“Oh! I didn’t realise you were…staying the night.”

Her shoulders shimmy on the last words in a way that’s more than a little concerning.

“Oh, I’m not. I didn’t realise everyone had already- I should go.”

Patrick just about manages to get past the furniture wall without toppling it over.

“ _David_ , be a gentleman and offer to walk him home.”

“I’m fine,” Patrick says, “really. But thank you, for the invite, and...everything. Maybe I’ll see you on Monday?”

They say their goodbyes, and Patrick heads out.

Alexis’ voice echoes down the hall as he leaves.

“… _totally_ playing hard to get.”

Rapidly followed by “Shut _up_ , Alexis,” and the sound of a pillow hitting a wall.

Patrick flushes right down to his toes.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick expects to see David in his English class on Wednesday.

He does not expect to see him at rehearsal, on a Tuesday afternoon.

“David? What are you doing here?”

David looks up at him. He’s sitting on the stage, legs dangling over the edge. “I’m being punished.”

“What did you do?”

“Uh I may have thought it would be funny to stencil Banksy paintings around the school. Y’know, make everyone freak out and think he’s among us. Turns out this school is full of security cameras and no one here has heard of Banksy. So, totally worth it.”

“Well,” says Patrick furrowing his brow in faux-seriousness, “if there’s one thing Mrs Steed taught me, it’s that crime doesn’t pay.”

“Is that the one and only thing she taught you?”

“That and to say no to drugs. Or was it yes to drugs? The cocaine haze makes it hard to remember.”

“Oh, I see,” says David with a smile, “the whole squeaky-clean, theatre-club, helping-little-old-ladies-cross-the-road thing is just a front for the rebellious, hard-drinking, impulsive Patrick that lies beneath.”

“Right. I don’t know how that wasn’t obvious from the fact that last time we met I was trying to hide from a party.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure this is the only interaction I’ve ever had in which I’ve been the bad boy. I’m kind of enjoying it. “

“So, are you going to continue the streak and fight Everett for the leading man role?”

“Ugh. Everett’s in this?”

Patrick lets out a laugh. “It’s been an exercise in patience.”

“I’ll bet. Anyway, the answer’s no. I’m very happy just doing something behind the scenes, and not having a visible role in this tacky, poorly written, underfunded school play.” David glances at the script in Patrick’s hands. “Which…you have a part in…clearly, so…congrats.”

Patrick grins. “Student number 3. It’s a very prestigious role.”

“Mm. Olivier’s green with jealousy.”

“You want to help me run lines?”

“Sure.”

Patrick sits next to David. David leans in. _To read the script_ , Patrick reminds himself.

Patrick clears his throat. “Miss, the janitor’s here to see you. But it looks like…he’s wearing a suit….and he has flowers?”

“I’m sorry,” says David, shaking his head, “Jocelyn has a crush on the janitor?”

“ _Mrs Appleby_ has a crush on the janitor,” Patrick corrects.

“…Ok.” David glances down at his line. “Is this a misprint? It looks like a paragraph-long monologue about… which curtain patterns she decided to buy?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure that’s a symbol of her own romantic incertitude. I think she was inspired by our unit on Hamlet’s soliloquies.”

“Hamlet was a much more compelling character. Even as a corpse.”

“You know,” says Patrick, patting the script, “this actually deals with a lot of the same themes. How do you uncover the truth of whether Shelley Grey is cheating on her exams? Does your new dining table still exist if no one’s seen it? Is existence futile without Desperate Housewives on on TV?...Do janitor-teacher relationships violate school policy?”

“Is morality relative, or is pursuing a relationship with Roland wrong in every possible circumstance?”

Patrick raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just pleasantly surprised that you know the cleaner’s name. Though in the play, he’s technically Ronald”

“Yeah, well, I knew Carmensita as ‘maid’ for 2 years and she ended up putting glitter in all of my styling gels. I’m not living through that again.”

“Styling gel?” asks Patrick, poking David’s gravity-defying hair. “You’re telling me this isn’t all natural?”

“Funny,” says David darkly, swatting at his hand.

They’re interrupted by Everett walking in, running a hand through his slicked-back blonde hair.

He stops when he sees the two of them. “Why is David here?”

“I’m your understudy,” David says with a smile. “Jocelyn doesn’t think you can handle the pressures of carrying the show.”

Everett rolls his eyes. “Please don’t tell me he’s doing costuming. I’m not gonna wear a skirt.”

“I wouldn’t dare part you with that football jersey. I know you’ve been wearing that thing since the Nixon administration.”

Jocelyn walks in before he can respond.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone.” She’s carrying a stack of books, which she puts on the stage with a _thump_. “But sometimes people will ask you to take on extra tasks without giving you a raise! Or getting rid of any of your other tasks! And that’s life!” she ends cheerily. She spots David on the stairs.

“David, are you here to complain about the choice of play? Because my answer is the same as last year: I cannot adapt Equus to be school-appropriate.”

“Uh no, I have to help out. Because I’m being punished?”

“Ok, well I don’t know why being part of a spirited school performance would be a punishment-“

David raises an eyebrow. “So you volunteered for this, then?”

“But I’m sure we’ll find a place for you. At the back. Way back there. With the lights.”

David walks to the back of the hall, where a girl is sitting with her sneakers up on a panel.

“Hi,” she says motioning to the seat next to her, “Stevie.”

“David.” He sits down. “So what ambience are you going for here?”

“I don’t know,” says Stevie, “reluctant acceptance of a newcomer in the job I chose specifically for its solitude?”

“…I meant the lighting.”

“I know. The ambience is well-lit.”

“Right. But is there like, mood lighting, or?”

“There _is_ mood lighting, and the mood is ‘I don’t want to expend any more effort than I have to on this pile of garbage.’”

“You know, I respect your work ethic, and I mean that sincerely, but aesthetics are kind of my _thing_.”

Stevie gestures to the panel, “If you wanna take charge, go for it.”

“ _Aesthetics_. Not technology. Can I get a couple pointers? Please?”

Stevie sighs. “Fine.” She runs David through the basics.

“Oh,” she adds, “if you want rave lighting, you just…” She flicks all of the switches off and on.

Jocelyn yells over, “Stevie, honey, I love the enthusiasm, but maybe it could wait 2 minutes? Ok, everyone, places.”

Libby Kruller walks to centre stage. “Another full day of teaching the leaders of tomorrow,” she says, blonde curls bouncing every time she gets a little too enthused.

Patrick raps on the wall and dutifully says his line.

Libby holds one hand to her heart and extends the other towards an imaginary window in front of her. “Daisy paisley. A perfect choice. If only decisions of the heart were easy as a curtain purchase.”

Everett walks on stage and David sets the scene with a blood-red spotlight. Stevie fiddles with her phone and a few thunderclaps ring out, followed shortly by Patrick snorting.

Jocelyn coughs. “Maybe a little lighter, for our protagonists?”

David sets the lights to blinding intensity. Everett attempts to glare at him while shielding his eyes.

“Is there a middle ground, perhaps?” Jocelyn asks earnestly.

David regretfully switches to normal lighting.

“Perfect,” says Jocelyn.

“Agatha,” says Everett in a monotone, “I brought you something.” He drops an apple on the desk.

Libby picks up the apple. “Teacher’s Day. You remembered.”

“Even fought a raccoon for it.”

“Oh,” says Libby, dropping the apple again.

“I guess you could call it ‘forbidden fruit’ Seriously though, I wouldn’t eat it if I were you.”

Jocelyn walks onstage. “Now it’s time for the musical number. Juniors, get involved!”

“I’ve taught you all I know about rave lighting,” Stevie says, putting a hand on David’s shoulder, “now it’s your turn.”

David randomly flickers switches on and off. “Like this?”

Stevie puts her hand to her heart. “They grow up so quickly.”


	3. Chapter 3

David finds himself hanging out with Stevie more and more. She even ends up introducing him to her favourite bar.

David nurses his Cosmopolitan, slightly too afraid to put it on the beer-stained coaster in front of him.

“So when you say _favourite_ ," he says to Stevie, "you mean the only one that doesn’t check IDs?”

“It’s a nice bar!” Stevie says defensively.

David looks around dubiously. “Half of the lights are broken.”

“Exactly.” Stevie takes a swig of her beer. “So, are you drunk enough to talk about Patrick?”

“Jesus. What is there to talk about?”

Stevie raises an eyebrow. “Dating an actor has to be on your bucket list.”

David gives her a blank look. “I’ve already dated actors. Ones with more than one line.”

“There are no small parts, David.”

“Don’t quote Konstantin Stanislavski at me. I own his quote-a-day calendar.”

“There you go then. When Student Number 3 tells Agatha that someone’s there to see her, you feel his pain, his passion, his heartbreak, his dreams, his wishes, his hopes. Possibly his boredom. And he uses more than one tone, which is upwards of what Everett uses throughout the entire play.”

“…Are you sure _you_ don’t want to date Patrick?”

Stevie pretends to ponder it for a second. “Patrick, no. Student Number 3, on the other hand...that man has seen some things.”

David makes a face. “Congratulations. You’ve grossed me out enough that any positive feelings I had towards Patrick, or indeed, any human, have been destroyed.”

“Oh. So you _did_ have a crush then.”

‘I didn’t say that.”

Stevie grins, and clinks her glass against his.

Stevie and him are late for rehearsal the next day.

They slink in while people are practicing onstage and make their way to their table at the back. David slips on his sunglasses and sits with his feet up on the table, leaning back on his chair.

Stevie attempts the same and accidentally hits a piece of equipment, starting a domino effect.

Jocelyn looks over resignedly. “Patrick, could you go help out?” She watches David lean on a switch, swivelling a spotlight around. “I think they may need a responsible adult,” she adds in a stage-whisper.

Patrick happily heads over to pick up the equipment.

“Patrick!” slurs Stevie. “Man of the hour. And the last 12 hours.” David elbows her.

Patrick stares at them. “Are you drunk? It’s 7am.”

“Between last night and this morning, it’s all liminal space,” says David.

“Ok,” says Patrick, “I don’t know what that means.”

“We got wasted last night,” translates Stevie. “We’re just hungover.”

“You’re still drunk,” Patrick says matter-of-factly.

“I’m the lightning-master,” says Stevie. “You think I could do this drunk?”

“…Lighting,” corrects Patrick.

David finds a candy wrapper from last night in his pocket and throws it at Patrick.

“Don’t mansplain lightning to her, Patrick. It’s her _job_.”

“…Must have been some party,” says Patrick.

“What?” asks David.

“Last night.”

“Oh, there was no party.”

“Oh. You and Stevie just got drunk…together.”

“Yep,” says David.

“Noo,” says Stevie. “Not like that.”

David continues pulling wrappers and receipts out of his pockets and throwing them at Patrick. “Not like what?”

Stevie looks at them.

“We’re not _fucking_ ,” she says eventually.

“Oh my _God_.”

“Ok,” Patrick says hurriedly, “For the record, that is _not_ what I was implying.”

“We just got drinks. You should come along next time,” Stevie says.

Patrick’s gaze shifts to David’s for a second, as if he’s waiting for disapproval. When he doesn’t get any, his mouth quirks. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Patrick does come along for drinks, even if he has a few more qualms than David and Stevie about getting wasted on a school night. In fact, he starts spending a lot more time with David and Stevie in general, and David finds himself suddenly in possession of two things he never thought he’d have in high school: extra-curriculars, and friends.

He realises the feeling that sometimes seemed to drag behind him was loneliness, and it’s getting lighter and lighter.

In general.

It comes back with a vengeance on his birthday. He wakes up to his parents at work, Alexis on one of her brief tantrums in Majorca, and nary a Facebook message from anyone. So, when he gets to school and Patrick hands him a small, brightly coloured package, his eyes might get a little moist.

Patrick looks increasingly panicked as David wells up. “Sorry about the Texta. My sister got to it, and I didn’t have time to rewrap it before school-”

David pulls him into a hug that happens to last as long as David needs to pull himself together.

Patrick does not look any less panicked when David pulls back. “You’re going to be _really_ underwhelmed, honestly.”

David opens the package to find a signed photo of Richard Gere.

“Oh my _God_.”

“I thought ‘what do you get the man who can buy anything? The one thing he has no chance in hell of getting.’”

“How did you get this?”

“Well,” starts Patrick, “if you wait outside of enough Six Flags…”

David rolls his eyes. “Mm. Sure.”

The bell rings.

“This is going next to Mariah,” says David, as he departs, holding up the photo. “Well. Maybe not next to her, but like. Just below.”

“Richard Gere should be flattered.”

“He _should_ be.”

That earns a soft smile from Patrick, before he gives David a wave, and heads off to class.

David watches him go. And feels light and airy all over again.


	4. Chapter 4

Opening night comes sooner than expected.

Patrick, adorably, had been a little nervous about delivering his one line, but Stevie’s aggressive level of blasé-ness about the whole thing seemed to settle him down.

David’s nervous too.

Not about the lighting. He has a bone-deep certainty that he has more taste than anyone here.

But he’s carrying yellow roses in his backpack, to give to Patrick after the show.

They’re Rorschach roses. Carefully chosen to reflect whatever Patrick wants them to be. Congratulations, or. Something else.

Still, wrapped up in doing his job, he manages to forget about them until Patrick comes onstage.

David doesn’t join in the whoops that greet him. He has _taste._

But maybe he claps a little harder than usual when the scene ends.

Libby Kruller is on next. Her performance is uneventful, except that she manages to accidentally say “Roland” instead of “Ronald” at least 3 times.

“Her acting’s giving me dry mouth,” Stevie whispers to David, halfway through. “Do you have any water?”

David sighs, and rifles in his bag for a water bottle.

“Ooh What’s that?” Stevie points to the yellow roses sticking out of David’s bag. “You giving those to Patrick?”

He hands her the bottle. “…Why would you not assume someone gave them to me?”

“You’re giving those to Patrick. You should go now in case he leaves.”

“What about my lighting duties?”

“Soft, warm lighting, I got it.”

“Ok. Thanks. Also, I can see the look on your face, and I just want to point out that getting someone flowers after a performance is a time-honoured platonic tradition among friends who-”

“You’re losing daylight.”

“Ok then, off to give a platonic gift.”

“Great. Totally normal way of saying that.”

David finds Patrick at his locker.

“Congratulations on your stage debut,” he says, holding out the bouquet.

Patrick grins at him. “Thank you, David.” He takes the bouquet. “Although Everett was just telling me I should only accept tokens that have been thrown onstage by screaming fans.”

“Well, you had more screaming fans than Everett.”

Patrick reddens. “I think the screaming was unrelated. They probably found another litter of rats in the auditorium.”

A full body shudder runs through David. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Patrick, sheepishness gone, smiles once again.

The echoes coming from the hall shift from blurred voices to music.

“Aren’t you on rave lighting duty?” asks Patrick.

“Stevie has it under control. And this way, she’s the only one who has to witness two hormonal actors with no chemistry or talent make out.”

“Not too late to just charge in and steal Everett’s role. Pretty sure you’d be a better Ronald.”

David frowns. “I know you _know_ that’s not a compliment. And I don’t particularly want to kiss Libby Kruller, so I think I’m good.”

“So we need a replacement Libby. Who _do_ you want to kiss?”

And David’s not sure if Patrick is joking, or flirting, or possibly just aiming to mentally torture David for the rest of his days, but he does know that he’s momentarily lost the capacity to form words and there’s only one other way to demonstrate.

Patrick leans in a second after David, noses bumping as their lips meet. Patrick has a little drop of sweat above the bow of his lips, courtesy of the stage lights. It should be grossing David out a lot more than it is.

Patrick’s smiling softly when David pulls back. “I’m guessing you liked the performance?”

“You made it bearable,” David says honestly.

Patrick’s smile grows. “It was all in the lighting.”

He takes David’s hand, and the two of them search for somewhere a little _less_ well-lit.


End file.
